


the devil's got your number tonight

by fleurdeliser, tuesdaysgone



Series: OT3verse [5]
Category: Comics RPF, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M, Phone Sex, Polyamory, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:25:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurdeliser/pseuds/fleurdeliser, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaysgone/pseuds/tuesdaysgone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only difference Frank can come up with between London and Edinburgh is Grant. Which is just silly because it's not like Grant hasn't seen them play multiple times in the past. It's making Frank feel like he's fourteen with a crush and it's fucking ridiculous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the devil's got your number tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to [](http://ciel-vert.livejournal.com/profile)[**ciel_vert**](http://ciel-vert.livejournal.com/) for the beta. We love you!

"Whose idea was it to come here? You know what? I don't even care, I hate you all," Gerard says, grabs another shirt in his size off the rack, and turns his attention back to the iPhone pressed to his ear. "Selfridges... I _know_. There's a leather jacket I'm pretty sure is like, the best thing I've ever seen."

"Every leather jacket is the best thing you've ever seen, Gee," Frank teases. Gerard flips him off.

"Yeah, that was Frank. Being an asshole. As usual." A soft smile crosses Gerard's face and he looks directly at Frank. "Yeah, he is. Here, you talk to him, I have to try all this stuff on."

And suddenly Gerard is shoving the phone at him. Frank's lucky he gets a hold of it before Gerard lets go and disappears into the changing room.

"Uh, hi?" Frank says.

"Hello, Frank." Really, Frank should have known it was Grant.

"Grant! Hi!"

"I take it you're on a shopping expedition?"

"Apparently. Thank god Gerard has to look at every fucking thing in every shop, because it's fucking freezing out."

Grant laughs. "It's worse here, I'm sure."

Frank groans. "Don't remind me. I have been spending way too much time in California to deal with this kind of weather."

There's a pause that stretches just too long and Frank can't help it. He cracks up. "Did we really just have a conversation about the weather?"

"I believe we did," Grant chuckles.

"Amazing," Frank says. "Hold on a sec." He bangs on the changing room door.  "Gerard, let me in. I am sitting on your bench and putting all these fucking bags down." The door clicks open and Frank pushes inside.  It’s actually a fairly large changing room, thank god, because Gerard seems determined to buy out the store.  Frank slumps on the bench and keeps talking to Grant, answering his questions about their time in London so far while occasionally commenting on Gerard’s clothing choices.  “You already own a jacket just like that, Gerard.  No way, that makes you look a little too much like Angus Young, shit, Gerard, where did you find it?”

Then he pauses.  Gerard is untangling a hanger that had hooked around the one holding the navy blue blazer and looking at it in confusion.  “Oops,” Frank says gleefully to Grant.  “The blue blazer must have been from the ladies’ department, it has a skirt with it.  Too bad you didn’t have that for your drag day, Gerard, it’s hot.  Did Gerard ever tell you about going to art school in drag?” Frank asks Grant.

“Sure,” Grant says easily.  Frank was hoping for a little more of a reaction, even though pretty much everybody knows that story at this point.  But then Grant continues, “When I told him about dressing in drag while I was doing _The Invisibles_ ,” and oops, Frank is pretty sure he almost swallowed his tongue there.  He makes a funny noise, anyway.  Gerard looks at him, eyebrows raised and the silky pleated skirt still dangling from his fingers, and Grant continues, voice shifting into a lower register.  “Frank.  Tell him to try it on.”

Frank’s eyes lock with Gerard’s and he swallows, gripping the plastic of Gerard’s iPhone case tighter so he doesn’t drop the damn thing, and he says, “Okay.  Gerard.  Grant says - put it on.”

“Does he,” Gerard says, not moving.

“He - I want you to put it on, Gerard,” Frank repeats more insistently.  

“Good,” Grant’s voice murmurs in his ear.

“I - okay,” says Gerard, fumbling with the fly of his jeans.  He slides them off, baring his pale, smooth legs.  They’re nice legs.  Frank’s just getting used to seeing them all the time.  Gerard’s bare skin still makes him think immediately and insistently of sex, it’s like, practically Pavlovian at this point.  

Gerard slides the skirt slowly up his legs, pleats swirling around his thighs as he wiggles to get the side fastened.  It actually fits.  He smooths his hands over the material, pivoting a little to check himself out in the mirror - it’s Gerard, he can’t help it - and then looking back at Frank.  Frank makes another little noise and Grant’s speaking in his ear again.  “Tell me how he looks, Frank.”

“He looks.  Ah.  Fuck,” Frank curses, because Gerard is smoothing the material compulsively up and down his thighs, and he’s starting to tent out the front of the fabric, and yeah, that reminds him, Frank’s jeans are getting seriously tight right now.  “Fuck, Grant, he looks so good.”  Gerard meets Frank’s eyes, something sultry creeping into his, and he tugs at the hem of his ratty t-shirt, pulling it tight against his flat chest and stomach.  “Fuckin’ - thrashed shirt, sweet little skirt, and his hips, I just wanna - “

“What do you want to do to him, Frankie?  Tell me.”  Grant’s gone all gravelly, and Frank lets his head clunk back against the wall for a minute, because he’s suddenly sure - hoping, anyway - that Grant’s touching himself.  Frank wants to touch him, too, feel Grant in his hand, huge and heavy.  He wants to touch himself, too, fuck.  Why isn’t he?  

Frank presses the heel of his hand against his crotch.  It helps a little, takes the fucking edge off, and Frank can clear his throat and speak into the phone again.  “I wanna back him against the wall; wanna go down on my knees, slide that pretty blue skirt up.  I want - to fucking smell him, fuck, my mouth’s watering.”  Gerard’s eyes are hot; he’s already backed himself up against the wall.  He’s lounging, hips cocked, on _display_ , because he’s an asshole.  “You’re such an asshole,” Frank whispers at Gerard.  “Fucking torture me, why don’t you?”  He slides off the bench, shuffles on his knees, close enough to touch Gerard, runs his hands up the fronts of Gerard’s legs.  He’s got the phone clamped between his cheek and shoulder.  “You still there?” he says into the receiver.

“I’m still listening.”

“I can’t - I don’t have enough hands, dude.”  He giggles suddenly.  This is so fucking ridiculous, and yet he’s never wanted anything more.

“Frank,” Grant says, laughing a little.  “You don’t have to - why don’t you give the phone to Gerard.”

“Fuck you,” Frank chuckles.  “Being all reasonable.”  He’s already started to pull the receiver away from his ear when he hears Grant’s voice again.  “What?” he breathes.

“Don’t stop what you’re doing.”

Frank sits back on his feet, looks back up at Gerard.  “For you,” he says sweetly, leaning in and nipping at Gerard’s thigh as Gerard raises the phone to his ear.  He hears Gerard cursing, sounding far away.  He’s already nuzzling his cheek up against Gerard’s dick, pushing the hem of the skirt out of the way to grab the waistband of Gerard’s briefs.

“Yeah,” Gerard’s breathing into the phone, “I - yeah.  I like how it feels.  Fuck, Frankie,” he gasps.  Frank smirks a little and continues to lick up the underside of Gerard’s dick.  He settles his hands on Gerard’s thighs, the silky material of the skirt cascading over the backs of his hands, bunched up around Gerard’s waist.  As he mouths at the head of Gerard’s dick Gerard moans and says, “I want you to see us, too.  I’d - fuuuuck.  I’d dress up for you.  Yeah.  Stockings, makeup.  Yeah, I’m fucking gorgeous, don’t you forget it.”  His voice is dripping with sex, and it’s Frank’s turn to moan, and Gerard cuts off the last word with a choked inhalation, hips snapping forward.  

Frank grabs harder, fingers digging into Gerard’s hipbones, and pushes him back against the mirror.  He opens his mouth more, sinks down further, wrapping a hand around the base of Gerard’s cock as he wrestles his own fly open and sticks his hand inside with no regard for finesse, needing something to thrust up against as he swallows Gerard down.   His hearing goes fuzzy, his own breath and heartbeat taking over, and he’s dimly aware that Gerard is still trying to talk, but the words are coming out half moans and Frank doesn’t let up, keeps it fast and rough and fucking relentless.  Gerard’s free hand tangles in Frank’s hair and he tugs, gasping, “Frankie!” as he comes.  

Frank swallows it down, pulling off before Gerard gets too sensitive and leaning his forehead against Gerard’s thigh.  It’s trembling slightly, and Frank presses harder, panting into the damp skin as he strokes himself fast, hunching into himself as he comes hard and messy.  When he looks back up, Gerard’s slumped against the wall, one hand tangled in the hem of the skirt, the other still pressing the phone to his ear.  When Frank meets his eyes, Gerard hands the phone off again, and Frank wipes his hands carefully on his jeans - already a lost cause - before taking it.  “Yeah?” he pants.  

Grant’s breathing a little heavy on the other end of the line.  “I’ll see you in a couple days,” he says meaningfully.  “Just - one thing.  Make sure he buys the skirt.”

***

Backstage of The Corn Exchange is teeming with people. There's food and beer and even a couple of video game consoles hooked to the TV in the green room, but Frank wants none of it. He pulls his phone and headphones from his pocket and sinks into the corner of a couch and pulls his hoodie up. He tips his head back, puts on Otis Redding, and zones out. Well, tries to. He's really fucking nervous. Maybe even more nervous than London. And he was plenty nervous before the London show, what with them playing new songs for the first time, and playing with a new drummer for the first time, and playing a show for the first time in over a year.

They're adding another new song to the mix, but they soundchecked it and it sounded great and Gerard was on fire. The only difference Frank can come up with between London and Edinburgh is Grant. Which is just silly because it's not like Grant hasn't seen them play multiple times in the past. It's making Frank feel like he's fourteen with a crush and it's fucking ridiculous. It's making his stomach churn.

After a few minutes of brooding like a loser, he decides that what he really needs is a cigarette. He finds one of the venue security guys and they head out back. It really is fucking cold, but the two lungfuls of fresh air he manages before lighting his cigarette feel good and he definitely feels less claustrophobic. The security dude doesn't try to make conversation, so Frank just listens to the sounds of Edinburgh. Finally, he stubs his cigarette out in the ash tray next to the door and they go back inside. The noise and the bustle of backstage isn't quite so overwhelming. He heads back into the green room to see Grant and Gerard sitting on his couch chatting. His stomach swoops, but this time it feels good. He perches on the arm of the couch and drapes his upper body onto Gerard's shoulder before grinning at Grant.

"Hi," he says.

Grant returns the smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Hello, Frank."

"You had a smoke without me," Gerard says reproachfully.

"Yeah, had to get some air." Frank shrugs.

Gerard gives him a look but doesn't press, and Frank tries to relax some more as he listens to Gerard and Grant talk. Eventually, Gerard excuses himself to go do some vocal warm-ups in another room and Frank rolls off the arm of the couch and down onto the actual cushions, sitting cross-legged and facing Grant.

"A friend told me the line went 'round the corner and a good distance up the street," Grant says.

"Really?" Frank grins. Their kids are great. "I hope they were all warm enough, it's fucking freezing out there."

"Are we going to talk about the weather again?" Grant teases.

Frank laughs. "No. I think we’ve exceeded the talking about the weather quota. We can only move up from here."

"Mmm. Did Gerard buy it?" Grant asks. Frank nearly squeaks. That wasn't quite what he meant by up, but he can't say he minds, really.

"Yes," Frank answers.

"Good."

"I... he... you." Frank scrubs a hand down his face.

Grant reaches out and squeezes his fingers. "I know, Frank."

He looks into Grant's face and yeah. He does. They sit quietly for a few minutes until Frank says reluctantly, "I should go get ready to go on."

Grant nods.

"See you after?" Frank asks, even though he already knows the answer.

"Of course."

The set kills. Which, of course it does. But it really, really kills. And DESTROYA. If Frank thought Gerard was on fire during soundcheck, he was like a fucking nuclear bomb of pure sex during the actual show. It's raw and intense and Frank is pretty sure he saw Gerard mime jerking off, which is usually just kind of funny to him, but this time, with this song dedicated to Grant in the audience? It was not so much funny as it was ridiculously fucking hot. When they finally stumble off stage, Frank is feeling turned on and elated and totally wired. He has to push Gerard into a dark corner and kiss the shit out of him for a minute or he just might burst before they get back to the green room.

Frank makes Gerard get his bag and they go into the bathroom and clean up as best they can without an actual shower, which they've actually gotten pretty good at. They put on their clothes and head back to the green room and there's Grant chatting with Mikey. He smirks when he catches sight of the two of them and Frank really, really wants to kiss him. Instead, he lets himself be pulled into the ruckus of post-show discussion. Eventually, he finds himself standing next to Grant again. They both watch Gerard gesture animatedly at Mikey about something.

"You played phenomenally tonight," Grant says.

"We're a good team."

Grant shakes his head. "Perhaps, but _you_ played phenomenally tonight.”

Frank feels himself flush. "Thank you."  He can’t think about it right now, Grant watching from the audience.  Watching _him_.  It’s already over, done with, and it still makes him nervous.  “How’d you like your song?” he asks, a little quieter.  It’s one of the ones that was really fucking new for them, built different from its bones up, and he knows how Gerard feels about it.

“Very moving,” Grant says, in this voice that could be suggestive, or not.  “I’ve been to the Holi festival, actually,” he adds.  Of course he has.  Grant’s done everything.  Maybe that’s why this still feels so surreal.  Frank just nods and lets Grant talk.  This is when it really strikes him, every time, how similar Grant and Gerard are.  Talking to both of them is just like - plugging in, to a pure current of whatever crazy shit is banging around in their brains, and it’s … Frank could do this forever, really.

Except he can’t, because there are kids are outside in the freezing cold, waiting for him - for them.  He catches Gerard’s eye, mimes signing, tilts his head.  Gerard looks back and nods tightly.  He looks on edge tonight, itchy, and Frank wonders if this is a good idea, shoots a glance back at Grant.  Grant’s watching Gerard too, and their faces when their eyes meet … yeah, maybe it’s actually the best idea.  They need time.  They’re all wired.

“Which hotel is yours?” Grant asks, and when Frank tells him, he nods.  “I think I’ll head to the lounge there, have a nightcap.”

“You don’t mind waiting?”  Frank can’t help asking.

“Not in the slightest.”  He reaches out for what probably would have been a friendly pat on the shoulder two months ago, skims the back of his fingers along Frank’s jaw instead.  “Dress warm.  It’s cold out there.”  Eyes gleaming with humor, he waves to Gerard and heads out the door.

Signing goes well. Most of the kids are sweet and the ones who aren't are easily ignored. By the time they're done, the crew has everything loaded and sent off to where it needs to go to get to Munich and the vans are ready and waiting to take them back to the hotel. Frank wishes he could have a moment with just Gerard. Since he can't have that, he pushes Gerard to the back of the van and crawls in after him. They get situated and then Frank leans into him. Gerard grabs his hand and kisses the little patch of exposed skin between the ear flaps on his dumb (but warm!) hat and the corner of his eye.

"Hey, Frankie," Gerard murmurs.

"Hi." Frank flips his hand over and laces their fingers together.

"You're amazing, you know that?"

"You're a sap, you know _that_?" Frank teases, but picks their hands up and kisses Gerard's knuckles.

Gerard makes a supremely bitchy face at Frank, but pulls him closer and they spend the final few minutes of the ride to the hotel curled up together. Frank feels the nervousness he’s been feeling all evening lessen a bit. By the time they're piling out of the van, Frank is relaxed and ready for whatever the night may bring.

The cold air is biting, so they hurry inside the hotel where Gerard just stops and stares while everyone else continues on to the elevators.

"This is like, the prettiest lobby I've ever been in," Gerard gushes.

"Nah, that one in Rome is prettier," Frank counters.

"Yeah, okay, you're right. But only just. I love the way they used contemporary design with Georgian architecture, though," Gerard says with one last look around.

Frank grins at him. "C'mon, let's go see what Grant is up to."

Grant is, apparently, up to leaning against the bar, chatting with the bartender, and looking unbearably sexy.

"Gerard?" Frank asks as they make their way over to Grant.

"Hmm?"

"We are very lucky men," Frank says a little breathlessly.

"Yes, we are," Gerard answers just as they reach Grant.

"Are what?" Grant asks with a smile.

"Lucky," Frank answers promptly.

"I thought you didn't believe in luck," Grant teases.

"We're making a special exception in this case," Frank says with a grin.

“Your choice in headgear is interesting.” Grant tugs at one of the ear flaps on Frank’s hat. Frank whips the hat off his head and grins.

“I think you mean amazingly warm, and you did tell me to dress warm.”

"That I did,” Grant smiles fondly. “Can I get you two anything?" he asks.

"Coffee," Gerard answers promptly and fervently. "Actually, could I get coffee delivered to the room? I should ... go upstairs and get ready."

“Get ready?” Grant can’t quite manage the innocent tone; he mostly just sounds expectant.  Frank really, really can’t blame him.  

Frank isn’t one hundred percent sure he knows the extent of what Gerard’s planning either, but he can guess.  Or hope.  It’s like the entire room gets a degree warmer.  “I’ll call when I’m ready,” Gerard says.  Frank nods, and Gerard heads upstairs.  Grant sits back down on his barstool.  Frank waves the bartender over and, after a moment’s hesitation, orders a cup of coffee in addition to asking them to send some up to Gee.

“You sure you don’t want anything in that?” Grant asks.

“Why, Mr. Morrison,” Frank drawls, stepping a little closer than polite to Grant’s chair, “are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Just trying to get your blood flowing,” Grant replies, Scottish burr heavier than usual.

Frank rests a hand on Grant’s leg, under the bar where no one will see.  “But you are,” he says meaningfully, holding Grant’s eyes.  He takes a sip of his coffee, licking his lips.  It’s true enough, anyway; Frank’s plenty wired from the show itself, just like always, but being this close to Grant is electric, and if he thinks about Gerard upstairs … well, it’s probably best he doesn’t right now.  He’d like this night to last longer than sixty seconds.

“Is that so?” Grant says.  “And how am I doing that?”  He’s watching Frank like Frank’s broadcasting these thoughts on his face - hell, maybe he is - but his eyes keep drifting to Frank’s mouth.  Frank licks his lips again for good measure.  He’s not a champion flirter; Frank’s always had good luck with the direct approach.  Besides, the truth is plenty sexy, at least in this case.

“I was so nervous tonight,” Frank says in a low voice, hopping up on the next barstool and pulling it in close so their knees overlap.  He lets one hand drop down into their laps where no one can see, running his fingers lightly up and down Grant’s inseam, and keeps talking.  “I couldn’t figure out why it was worse than usual, because I knew Gerard would blow it out of the water, and then I saw you after the show and realized I’d wanted to - impress you.”  He looks up through half-lidded eyes, letting the corner of his mouth curl up a little.

“You did,” Grant answers, fingers tangling with Frank’s, pressing them a little more firmly against his thigh.  “You always do.  I haven’t stopped thinking about the last time I saw you, you know.”

Frank sucks in a deep breath.  Grant’s fucking _voice_ , it does things to him, and - “If you had, I’d have been disappointed,” he murmurs.  “I haven’t.  Neither of us have.”  They haven’t really talked about it, but Frank knows.   _So I talked to Grant today_ , Gerard will say, and there’s always some sort of story to follow it, but there’s always a pause first, a moment of eye contact, a little thrill in Frank’s stomach.  

“And now that you’ve seen me again?” Grant asks mildly.

“You look good,” Frank replies in a low voice.  “Real good.”  Fuck, why are they still in the bar, and not somewhere he can get his mouth on Grant?  Gerard, that’s why.  They’re waiting on Gerard.  And Frank knows, he _knows_ it’ll be worth the wait, but - “He needs to hurry the fuck up.”

“Patience - “

“Is not one of my virtues,” Frank tells him, leaning closer.  “When people tell me to be patient, I tend to end up dragging them off into a bathroom stall.  Just for your information.”

“Well,” says Grant.  “I’m far too old for that, aren’t I?”  Which is a bald-faced lie and they both know it.  Frank’s about thirty seconds away from disproving it - he really fucking hopes Grant will let him disprove it - when Grant shifts on his barstool, crossing his legs and trapping Frank’s restless fingers between his thighs.  “Be good,” he admonishes, tugging them free and placing them back on Frank’s own knee.  

“I _would be_ ,” Frank retorts, leaning back and taking a swig of his now-cooling coffee.

“I have no doubt.  But perhaps you should tell me more about your tour instead.  For now.”  He raises an eyebrow and sips his own drink.

Frank takes a sip of his coffee and tries to remember their schedule.  "Munich tomorrow, then the next show is Amsterdam, but I _think_ we're doing press in Paris for a few days before that and then coming back to London on the 31st to do the NFL thing. Which Mikey and I are really excited about."

"That's your birthday, isn't it?" Grant asks, reaching out and running a finger across the letters on his knuckles.

Frank shivers a little, but he grins broadly. He didn't expect Grant to know that. "Yeah, that's my birthday. It should be fun."

"So your birthday at Wembley, and then?"

"Paris again, for the actual show, then we go to Germany for three days and then back to London for a week of press and meetings with the record label. And then I guess we're doing an album listening party with the fans at the end, which will be the only good thing about it." Frank wrinkles his nose and drinks more coffee.

"You really care about your fans. More than a lot of artists I've met," Grant says.

"Yeah, man. I mean, they're the only reason we're here. And they're mostly just great kids and it's always fucking great when we can do something special like that for some of them, you know?" Frank shrugs.

"Your fans seem to have a lot of sincerity, as well," Grant observes.

"They do. They're... Like, people know when you put your heart into creating something. And I think our kids pick up on that and try to give it back." Frank flushes a little and he has no idea why. He's said as much to any number of other people in the past. Even reporters.

"I understand," Grant says. And yeah, if anybody understands, it's gonna be Grant. Frank smiles at him and nudges his calf with the toe of his chucks.

"Anyway, we're going to be in London for an _entire week_ with nothing to do but meetings and interviews," Frank says, schooling his face into the most innocent look he can manage.

Grant smiles fondly at him. "We shall see."

"Okay." Frank grins and drains the last of his coffee. Just as he places the mug down, his phone rings.

"Are you finally ready?" Frank asks instead of a greeting.

"Fuck you, you can't rush this kind of thing," Gerard says, but Frank can hear him grinning. "Yes, I'm ready."

Frank's stomach swoops. "Okay, we'll be right up."

Talking with Grant about the tour and the fans calmed him down a little - as he’s sure Grant intended.  But the hand Grant lays on the small of his back in the elevator sends his pulse ramping right back up.  “I was going to take you two out on the town,” Grant tells him.  “But Gerard said - “

“Yeah, we’ve got to leave for Munich at a fucking indecent hour.  This - well - we wanted to see you.  I think this is Gerard’s idea of making up for it, but - “

“Gerard has good ideas,” Grant says, poker-faced.

“Gerard has crazy as shit ideas.  You two have that in common.”  When Grant raises an eyebrow at him, he continues, “Hey, I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

“I know you do, Frank.  I’m so fucking glad you do.”  It’s unexpectedly fervent.  Both of Grant’s hands settle on Frank’s hips and he steers Frank out of the elevator Frank hadn’t noticed had stopped moving.  The room’s down at the end of the hall, and Gerard told him the door would be unlocked.  Grant’s still got a hand on Frank’s hip when he pushes the door open, and Frank can feel his fingers tighten when he sees the figure standing by the bedside table.  Frank looks up a beat later, so he gets to watch the expression bloom across Gerard’s face as he sees Grant’s reaction.

God, he’s so fucking proud of himself.  And he should be.  Fuck.  He looks even more amazing than he did in that dressing room, slinky little skirt now paired with some sort of soft top, the same navy blazer now buttoned tight.  He’s put on eyeliner and lipstick and actually seems to have washed his hair, and he’s got dark stockings on his legs.  No shoes.  He probably couldn’t find any on such short notice, but it just makes him look that much more undone.

The most undone thing about him, though, is his expression.  Frank’s seen Gerard in the throes of every emotion there is, and this one he’s intimately familiar with.  It’s not like he didn’t know Gerard was so smitten.  But he’s not even trying to hide it.  And then his eyes shift to Frank, and his expression doesn’t change, not one bit, and Frank can’t even breathe.

Frank’s across the room before he knows it, reaching for Gerard.  “I love you,” he says, cupping Gerard’s face in his palms, careful not to smudge any of his makeup no matter how much he wants to.  “Fuck, Gee, I love you.”

“I know,” Gerard says, hands twisting in Frank’s hair.  He brushes a tiny kiss over Frank’s lips and then turns his head to look back at Grant.  Frank turns too.  Grant’s watching them.

“You’re standing too far away,” Frank tells him.

Grant smiles and moves toward them.  “I was admiring the view.”

“The view is plenty fucking admirable from up close,” Frank grouses.

“Yes, I see that.”  Grant puts a hand on Gerard’s hip and cups Frank’s cheek with the other, leaning down to kiss him. Frank opens his mouth and lets Grant in. It’s ... Frank can’t even describe it. All he knows is that this kiss means a lot. To both of them. Finally, Frank pulls back.

“I’m just ... I want to watch for a little bit,” he says breathlessly, pressing a quick kiss to Grant’s lips and squeezing Gerard’s hand.  He kicks off his sneakers and sinks onto the bed as Grant reaches up to frame Gee’s face with his hands. The look Grant gives Gerard is every bit as intense as the one Gerard was giving earlier. All he can think is how fucking much Gerard deserves that look, how Frank doesn’t mind that he’s not the only one looking at Gerard like that. How maybe someday _he’ll_ get that look from Grant. And even if he doesn’t, that’s okay too.  Because they have something here, something surprisingly easy, unexpectedly necessary.

Grant’s hands move into Gerard’s hair and down his neck and he leans in to kiss.  Frank was still too surprised to really watch this part last time, and it doesn’t last long this time.  Gerard definitely whimpers when Grant pulls back and Frank very nearly does, hands twisting uselessly in the hem of his t-shirt.

Grant rubs a thumb lightly over Gerard’s lipsticked mouth, “We can’t waste this just yet.” He puts his hands on Gerard’s hips and moves his mouth to Gerard’s neck. He goes straight to Gerard’s sensitive spots and Gerard moans, tipping his head back. Grant moves his hands under the skirt and pulls Gerard’s hips flush against his own. “So hard already,” he says.  “You love this, don’t you?”

Of course Gerard loves this, dressing up and painting himself, wearing his own creation.  Frank thinks it’s a little bit of a control thing, like Frank’s tattoos, like the words Gerard likes to write on his skin.  It’s a little extra distance, that’s all; he’s not less himself, he’s more himself, and Frank knows Grant understands that.  Thinks maybe that’s why this is happening now.  

Then he hears his own name.  “Look at Frank,” Grant’s saying to Gerard.  “Look at him watching you.”

“Us,” Gerard corrects.  “He’s watching both of us.”  He is, of course, even though there is a distressing amount of clothing on both of them.  “The sudden patience is unlike you, though,” Gerard says, addressing Frank directly this time.

“I’m admiring the view,” he says, echoing Grant deliberately, trying for a bit of the burr.  “The view needs less clothing.”

Gerard tugs out of Grant’s arms, comes over to crawl up the mattress and hover over Frank.  “Then make yourself useful,” he teases.  Frank sits up underneath him, forcing Gerard to lean back and settle himself onto Frank’s lap, and he steadies Gerard’s hips before moving his hands to the buttons of the blazer.

“Gonna undo your hard work,” he grins.  “You okay with that?”  He gets the last button open, pushes the jacket off Gerard’s shoulders.  It hits the floor with a soft thump.  The shirt underneath is some sort of drapey, silky thing, and Frank spreads a hand across Gerard’s chest, rubbing the fabric back and forth across Gerard’s nipples, sticking a hand underneath to pet at his stomach and push the fabric over his head.  

Gerard sucks in a breath when he re-emerges, hair going every which way.  “I don’t know,” he drawls.  “Is someone going to fuck me at the end of it?”

Frank hums, running a knuckle up and down Gerard’s sternum.  “Mmm.  I bet we could get a volunteer,” he deadpans, looking over Gerard’s shoulder at Grant.  “Isn’t that right?”  Grant steps up behind Gerard, running his palms up Gerard’s back, and Frank feels Gerard shiver.  “The less clothing thing applies to you too,” he says, catching Grant’s eye, and Grant reaches obligingly for his buttons, shedding his shirt and jacket while Frank wraps his own hands around Gerard’s biceps and pushes him off his lap and off the bed.  

Grant pulls Gerard backwards into his chest and Gerard stands quietly; he tips his head back onto Grant’s shoulder.   Frank leans forward and goes to work on the side zip of the skirt.  When the fabric pools onto the floor, Frank bites back a groan.  The stockings stop mid-thigh, and Gerard’s wearing - no, practically straining the seams of - a pair of silky panties.  “Dammit, _Gerard_ ,” he says, leaning his forehead against Gerard’s stomach.  He reaches up and trails his fingers along the line of Gerard’s cock under the fabric and feels fingers curl into his hair, push it away from his face.

Frank sighs happily and kisses Gerard’s stomach, then moves down. He mouths Gerard's cock through the panties, sucking at the head a bit. The fingers in his hair clench and pull him back and Frank has to moan.

"Not yet, asshole."  

"What, you thought I was going to let you come? I don't fucking think so." Frank runs his hands down Gerard's thighs and pulls him back between his knees. He rests his chin on Gerard's belly and just looks up at him.

"Fuck, you're fucking gorgeous," Frank breathes.

"He really fucking is," Grant says, and Frank shifts his eyes over to Grant.

"What're we gonna do with him?" Frank asks.

"Haven't decided yet. But before we get too much further, your clothing needs to come off." Grant moves from behind Gerard, shifts him over, and then gestures for Frank to stand. When he does, Grant immediately unzips the hoodie he's wearing and Gerard pulls it off his arms. Grant huffs when he sees the flannel shirt underneath.

"What? Your country is fucking freezing, man. I need layers to keep warm like you told me to!" Frank grins.

"In addition to ridiculous hats?" Grant asks.

"Yes!" Frank laughs and Grant tugs on the lapels of Frank's shirt, pulls him in for a quick kiss, pushes him away again, and starts unbuttoning. There's something about the look on Grant’s face, the way Grant's fingers are moving down his torso, that makes all the laughter go away. Grant gets rid of the flannel, and Gerard reaches in and grabs Frank's t-shirt and pulls it over his head. Grant's hands immediately go for his chest. He traces the outline of Frank's chestpiece and Frank trembles.  When Gerard's hands join Grant's, Frank's knees nearly buckle and he's so hard it's getting uncomfortable.

"Okay. Pants need to be off," Frank insists breathlessly. "Now." Gerard goes for his belt buckle. "You too," he tells Grant.

Grant smirks and slowly removes his belt, unbuttons and unzips his pants. Frank raises an eyebrow and Grant pushes his pants down his thighs. Frank notices his briefs say something and leans forward a bit and squints. And then cracks the fuck up.

"What?" Gerard asks, struggling with the buttons of Frank’s pants. "Ugh, why the fuck did you wear button-fly today, motherfucker?"

"To annoy you. And Grant is wearing the best briefs of all time." Frank nudges Gerard's chin around and when he takes in what they say, his stupid duck laugh fills the room. Frank reaches out and grabs Grant's wrist and pulls him as close as he can get him, then grabs his neck and pulls him down in for a kiss. "You better fucking _believe_ we will," Frank murmurs against his lips.

Frank feels Gerard drop to his knees, his hair brushing Frank’s stomach on the way down.  He’s apparently forgotten about Frank’s jeans.  Frank and Grant break apart, both looking down.  Gerard’s sliding his hands up Grant’s thighs, running his thumbs across the bottom elastic of Grant’s briefs.  “Worship here, hm?” Gerard says.  His lips make an obscenely pink mark on the white cotton when he mouths at the hard line of Grant’s dick.  “What did you have in mind?  Be specific,” he says, and smiles, and Grant makes an incredible little noise.  Frank leans in and kisses Grant’s neck right below his ear.  When Gerard gets it in his mind to tease, it’s enough to try the patience of a saint.  Frank’s pretty sure neither of them are saints.

“Let’s try this,” Frank says, slipping his fingers under the waistband of the briefs and sliding them down.  He steers Grant to the edge of the bed and Grant sits.  Frank shoves his jeans and underwear off and follows, shuffling till he’s kneeling with Grant leaning up against his chest.  He tucks his chin over Grant’s shoulder and looks back down his body.  “Well, he’s already on his knees, anyway,” he muses.  Gerard’s pushing Grant’s thighs apart and wrapping a hand around Grant’s cock, and all Frank can see is red hair and flashes of tongue, but he can feel the tense curve of Grant’s back and sucks gently at the side of Grant’s neck, considering.  Then he gets a flash of _oh, of course,_ and he’s leaning in, whispering in Grant’s ear, “Tell me what you want.”

“This,” Grant says immediately.  “Just like this.”  He reaches up and back and pulls Frank’s face closer, kisses him open-mouthed and dirty.  His other hand is buried in Gerard’s hair.  

Frank shifts closer.  If he spreads his legs he can press his own hard-on up against Grant’s hip, and he just pants against Grant’s shoulder for a moment, hips moving incrementally.  It does nothing but relieve a little tension, but it’s enough that he can concentrate, keep talking.  “He fucking loves this,” Frank tells Grant.  “Loves being on his knees for you.  Just look at him, shit.  Gerard,” Frank says, reaching down and touching Gerard’s lips where they’re stretched wide, “you gonna let him fuck your mouth?”  Gerard’s fingers clench on Grant’s thigh, and Frank hears him moan, hears Grant swear in response.  “I would let you, too,” Frank whispers suggestively.  “But tonight you gotta fuck up his lipstick.”

“ _Frank_ ,” Grant groans, and Frank leans over him, running his hands down the smooth plane of his chest, to his stomach, pressing there as he nips his way along Grant’s jaw.  He can feel the muscles shift as Grant starts thrusting up into Gerard’s mouth, can see Gerard’s shoulders shift and sway as he relaxes into it.  Then Grant stops, tugs at Gerard’s hair until he pulls off and looks up at them, eyes glittering.  

“What - “

“Come up here,” Grant tells him, twisting around to lean back against the pillows.  “I want to see you.  Frank wants to see you.”  Frank, still kneeling by Grant’s hip, feels really fucking naked until he catches Grant looking him up and down and then he mostly just feels ridiculously fucking turned on.  He wraps a hand around his own dick, giving it a few strokes and raising an eyebrow at Grant, like, _what are you gonna do about it?_  They’re both distracted when Gerard climbs up onto the mattress, settling down astride Grant’s legs and leaning back down to swallow down Grant’s dick like he’d never stopped.

“Fuck.  Gerard.  Fuck.  Your mouth,” Grant’s repeating, hands sliding into Gerard’s hair.

“He’s good at this,” Frank rasps.  “Just hang on.  Then we’re gonna give you a show.”  He squeezes the base of his own cock, running the fingers of his other hand along Gerard’s cheek, his busy mouth.  Gerard opens up a little this time, lets Frank slide a finger inside to trace the silky wet skin of Grant’s dick.  

Grant’s getting close, hips flexing faster, and then his muscles tense all at once and he growls “Gerard!” like it’s being ripped out of him as he comes.  Gerard swallows it down, pulling off at the last second to stare, panting.  Frank sneaks a look at Grant and he’s staring right back. Gerard goes up on his knees, moves himself so he’s straddling Grant’s lap, and wraps his arms around Grant’s neck and kisses him. It’s one of the hottest kisses Frank has ever witnessed, with Gerard still in the stockings and fucking panties. He can’t contain his moan at the sight of them.

Grant pulls back and looks at Frank. “I believe you promised me a show.”

“I did,” says Frank, running his fingers up Gerard’s spine.  “I need my frontman back though.”  Gerard sits up, and Frank tugs until they’re both kneeling, facing each other.  “Hi,” he says.  Gerard’s red in the face, breathing heavy, and wearing a fucking wicked grin.  “You enjoying yourself?”

“Oh, a _gentleman_ ,” Gerard teases.

“That’s me, classy.  Now take off your fucking panties.”  Grant’s laughing at them, Frank can hear him, and he hooks an arm around Grant’s bent knee, presses a quick kiss against the skin there.  Gerard’s scrabbling to get the panties down his legs, and he finally kicks them off his feet, collapsing on the pillows next to Grant.  Grant leans over and kisses him again.  Frank slides a hand up the stocking-covered length of Gerard’s thigh - the whole way up, till he hits skin - and Gerard groans into Grant’s mouth.  “These are staying on,” Frank tells him.  He pushes up between Gerard’s legs, holding himself up over Gerard’s body and just looking down at him for a moment.  

“Bossy,” Gerard snarks when he pulls away from Grant.  He reaches for Frank, pulling Frank down on top of himself.  Frank can feel how hard he is, their bodies pressed together from chest to thigh, and he gets a knee planted so he can flex his hips, rutting up against Gerard, dicks sliding together.  Gerard’s mouth is so close, lips swollen and smeared-pink, and he opens for Frank immediately when Frank leans down.  He tastes like himself but with a hint of lipstick, a hint of Grant’s come, and Frank just spends a while exploring his mouth, sucking on his tongue a little.  Gerard’s wriggling underneath him when he finally pulls back.

“You want something, baby?”  Frank whispers into Gerard’s neck, licking down his throat and back up the other side.

“You _know_ I do,” Gerard shoots back, gasping when Grant leans in to whisper something in his ear.  Frank can’t hear what he says, but then Gerard’s adding, “Make me come, Frank.  I need it.  I need you.”

Frank sucks in a breath and pushes himself back up to his knees, looking around the room for - yes, there it is.  Gerard even put condoms and lube on the bedside table, what a fucking boy scout.  “You’ve got me,” he answers Gerard, leaning over to grab the supplies.  He slicks up his hand and kneels back between Gerard’s legs, closing one hand around Gerard’s cock while the fingers of the other hand slide back behind his balls, circling his opening gently before pushing the first one in.  Gerard moans fucking _loud_ , and Grant slides his hand across Gerard’s stomach, fingers spread, pressing down a little.  He’s up on his side, now, eyes raking up and down Gerard’s torso, flicking up to meet Frank’s eyes.  

Frank stares back; he promised Grant a show, and Gerard is giving them both one, pushing up into Frank’s fist and back onto Frank’s fingers, head thrown back against the pillows.  He’s fucking _gone_ , and Frank has to say his name several times before he looks up, eyes glazed.  “What?”

“Gee.  Are you ready, I - “  Frank’s so fucking hard he can’t see straight, and no one’s even touched his dick but himself.  Gerard just nods, hair spilling over his face, moving with his panting breaths, and Frank reaches for one of the condoms immediately.  Grant sits up and takes it from his fumbling fingers, ripping the wrapper and rolling it on for him.  Frank’s eyes squeeze shut, so he only feels Grant touch his face, thumb easing his lip from between his clenched teeth.  Frank grips the base of his cock with one hand, Gerard’s thigh with the other, lining up and pushing in as slowly as he can.  Fuck, it feels so fucking good, there’s no way he’s gonna last, it’s too - Frank realizes he’s talking out loud and he hitches Gerard’s knee up to his shoulder, biting at the soft inner skin of Gerard’s leg as he pushes in till he’s buried as far as he can go.  

He pauses like that, trying to get hold of himself. To breathe. Grant grabs his chin and pulls his head over for a kiss. Frank's not sure if that's better or worse. Probably both. He hears Gerard moan below them and breaks the kiss to look down.  Gerard’s mouth is hanging open and his eyes are fixed on the two of them.

"Fuck, I love you," Gerard gasps out. He's talking to both of them. Frank can't decide whether to kiss Grant some more or lean down and kiss Gerard or start fucking moving already. Grant solves that by pulling Frank in for another kiss, making it as hot and dirty as he possibly can before abruptly pulling away; he leans down, pins Gerard's hands above his head, and kisses him much as he did Frank. If Frank thought their kiss before was the hottest thing he’d ever witnessed, this is damn strong competition.

Frank takes that as his cue to start thrusting. He tries to go slowly, but Gerard is having none of that and starts fucking himself on Frank's cock. Frank speeds up to match Gerard's pace; his eyes drift closed for half a second, but he forces them open to watch Gerard. To watch Grant. Frank remembers he has a free hand and wraps it around Gerard's cock, stroking as slowly as he can. Grant moves his lips to Gerard's neck and a string of curses and affirmations escape Gerard's mouth. Frank wants to make this last forever, but there's no way he can with Gerard writhing under Grant's mouth and hands and thrusting against Frank, gripping the sheets like if he lets go he'll fly away. Frank speeds up his strokes on Gerard's cock.  Grant wraps his hand around Frank's, lacing their fingers, and they stroke together.

"C'mon, Gee," Frank says as Gerard's thrusts become more erratic, "Come for us." Gerard's hips snap up and he's coming all over his chest. It's when Grant leans over to lick it up that Frank can't hold off for a second longer.  He thrusts hard, feels Grant's hand still wrapped in his and Gerard clenching around him, and comes.

Frank’s pulse slows down and with it comes a wave of utter exhaustion.  He can barely keep himself upright long enough to pull out and strip off the condom.  Grant goes and gets washcloths, and Frank murmurs a mostly-coherent thank you and turns to Gerard, cleaning him up the best he can before he gives up and drops the cloth on the floor.  Gerard murmurs back, tugging Frank down to the mattress and kissing lazily across his face until Frank turns his face into a pillow and sighs.  Frank feels the mattress dip again, another warm body nestling up behind him, the covers settling over them all.  He drifts off.

It’s probably not long before Frank wakes up again.  He’s rolled over at some point and buried his face into Grant’s chest, and that’s what wakes him - Grant stroking gentle fingertips over his eyebrow, the bridge of his nose, the line of his jaw.  “There you are,” Grant says when Frank opens his eyes, his voice sleepy and rough.  “Comfortable?”

“Mmm, yeah, sorry.  You want me to move?”  Gerard’s used to being a living pillow for Frank, but Grant maybe didn’t sign up for that.

“No, I’m just looking,” Grant tells him.  “You’re so - “

“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?”  That’s Gerard, behind him.  Frank hadn’t realized he was awake, too.  But hell, the way Frank sleeps, they’ve probably been talking over his head for … well, awhile.  He grumbles at Gerard and Gerard laughs, sounding fucked-out and happy.  “Shut up, Frank, you are.  Let us admire you.”

“Admire me later,” Frank tells Grant’s chest.  “Don’t we have to be up in - “  He’s not sure.

“You don’t want to know,” Gerard tells him sleepily.  “Don’t worry, I set an alarm.”  There’s rustling behind him, and then Gerard’s nuzzling closer, wrapping an arm around Frank’s waist.  Grant chuckles and leans over Frank to kiss Gerard, then settles back down and lets Frank tuck his head under Grant’s chin.  He feels a kiss on the crown of his head, and then he really _is_ asleep.

***

Gerard’s cell phone alarm is annoying as hell - he says it’s the only way he’ll ever hear it - and both Frank and Gerard twitch and fumble their way out from under the covers to make it shut up.  Then they look at Grant, at each other, and giggle quietly.  Frank’s stomach is the kind of heavy and swoopy that it only is when he’s gotten far too few hours of sleep, but he manages to locate and struggle into his clothes and stuff anything extraneous into his bag.  

Next to him, Gerard is doing the same thing.  He’s back in his disintegrating t-shirt, jeans, and boots, but he’s still got smudges of eye makeup around the corners of his eyes.  It’s almost like the old days, until Grant makes a noise and rolls onto his back, stretching, and they both look over at the bed.

“I’m awake,” Grant mutters.  

“Go back to sleep,” Gerard whispers.  “I’ll tell them downstairs - they won’t clear you out of here till you’re ready.”  

“I wanted to say goodbye, though,” Grant says.  “I don’t know when....  You’re back in London soon, right?”

“We are.  Grant.  I’ll call you.  Sleep.”  Gerard stoops and kisses him, then adjusts the strap on his bag and looks over at Frank.

Frank steps close, leans down and presses another kiss to Grant’s mouth.  “London,” he whispers, and Grant smiles.  He rolls over and pulls the covers back up over his head, and Frank and Gerard let themselves out of the room and head for the elevator.  Frank grabs Gerard’s hand on the ride down, tipping his head onto Gerard’s shoulder and closing his eyes.  

The rest of the guys are already in the lobby when they shuffle in, and Gerard goes over to have a quiet conversation with the concierge as Frank drags their stuff over to the pile of bags by the door.  He goes to stick his hands in his jacket pockets and meets material - his hat with the earflaps.  He chuckles and pulls it on, hunching his shoulders against the cold and going outside for a smoke.  

Gerard joins him after a minute, and Frank passes the cigarette over.  Gerard thanks him absentmindedly.  He’s looking at Frank’s hat.  “I should get one of those too,” he muses.  Frank looks up, sees the twinkle in Gerard’s eye, and grins a conspiratorial grin right back.  

“Maybe you should.  It’s important to stay warm in Scotland.  Anyone will tell you.”

“You guys are weird.”  It’s Mikey, tugging his hoodie up over his head and scrambling into the waiting van.  Frank and Gerard shoot each other little half-smiles, and Frank gets rid of the cigarette butt.  They climb back into the backseat and Gerard leans against the side of the van, tugs Frank up against his chest.  

“Love you,” Gerard murmurs, and seriously, Frank has the best fucking life.  He has this.  He kisses the first thing he can reach - somewhere mid-chest, getting a faceful of scarf - and leans his head against Gerard.  

“Love you back,” he mumbles.  He falls asleep thinking about the next time.


End file.
